Though I've no feet--some other man Is standing in my shoes! "I wish I ne'er had seen your face; But now a long farewell! For you will be my death;--alas! You will not be my _Nell!_" Now when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got-- And life was such a burthen grown, It made him take a knot! So round his melancholy neck A rope he did entwine, And, for his second time in' life, Enlisted in the Line! One end he tied around a beam, And then removed his pegs, And, as his legs were off,--of course, He soon was off his legs! And there he hung, till he was dead As any nail in town,-- For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down! A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he died-- And they buried Ben in four cross roads, With a _stake_ in his inside! ----T. Hood. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM |Twas in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouched by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in: Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran,-- Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book upon his knees! Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, Nor ever glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the pond'rous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strained the dusky covers close, And fixed the brazen hasp: "Oh, God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!" Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took,-- Now up the mead, then down the mead, And past a shady nook,-- And lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book. "My gentle lad, what is't you read-- Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crown unstable?" The young boy gave an upward glance, "It is 'The Death of Abel.'" The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain,-- Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And, long since then, of bloody men, Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,